


What's Luck Gotta Do with It?

by LibertyKingdom



Category: Miami Vice (TV)
Genre: F/M, mellowoutpal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:40:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyKingdom/pseuds/LibertyKingdom
Summary: Short fluff based on the prompt:Crockett remarks, "I'm the Luckiest Man Alive."
Relationships: Sonny Crockett x Ricki Tubbs, Tubbs x Crockett





	What's Luck Gotta Do with It?

Far from the maddening crowd is more than a book title. It is a tangible, peaceful, and lovely location. Tonight, the flashy strobes and neons of the club were traded in for the quietude of the outdoors. Not a note of the raucous pulsating music can spread out its tendrils this far to batter even the most receptive of eardrums.

The refreshing scent of fresh rain lingered long in the still temperate air. Wet streets glistened in the dull halos of yellow streetlights and the ever-changing reds, greens, and yellows of those commanding traffic. Palms shivered and swayed, shedding teardrops of remorse for the temporary loss of sunshine. A loss that is felt citywide since the gloomy day had transitioned seamlessly into the cover of darkness.

Tubbs allows herself to revel in the cushy lap of luxury afforded by the Daytona Spyder. The interior tan leather upholstery eases her tense and aching muscles in a way most other passenger seats couldn’t. Her head of dark curls lulls, coming to rest against the smooth surface of the rolled-up window beside her. Contemplative hues are glued to their task, the careful watch of a suspect’s house. Every now and again they slip in their vigilant watch, stealing glances over at Crockett. An unbidden smile pulls at the corners of her lips as she denotes the striking contours of his handsome countenance. Upon his face could be found a lovely juxtaposition between the ethereal kiss of light delving through the windshield and the shadows that linger within the closed car cabin. In moments like these, Sonny is every part of the angel and Tasmanian devil. A perfect blend of his true self and any number of his aliases, translating into a lethal combination where Tubbs’s heart and emotions are concerned. For every stolen glance creates a whirlwind of commotion inside of her. Her pulse skyrockets, forehead breaks out in a dewy sweat, and her usual façade of extreme confidence wavers.

Tubbs’s coffee has long ago grown tepid, the thermos no longer retaining any semblance of the warmth that once radiated deep into the tissue and tendons within her hands. Still, she takes a begrudging sip. The taste is absolutely pungent as it graces her tongue. Her face distorts with brief disgust as she returns the thermos to the cup-holder. A futile glance is cast towards the silver dealer’s watch locked around her wrist. In the shadows the positions of the clock’s hands are indistinguishable. Still, she ventures to believe the time is creeping on some post-midnight hour. Adjusting, her lanky legs come to rest against the dashboard, sans shoes for maximum comfort.

Ricki opens her mouth to speak but Crockett was quicker to the punch. The thread of her thoughts evaporates, fizzling into nothingness. Of all the things she’d been prepared to hear him say, she hadn’t expected this: ❝ I’m the luckiest man alive. ❞

With her interests fully piqued, Tubbs turns towards him. Her dark brows furrow with confusion as she fumbles to ascertain what accounted for his present summary. “Yeah?” She prods, her lips pulling further into a cheeky and rather lopsided grin. “What did you do, partner? Win the lottery?” Of course, not all matters of luck were associated with numbers, card games, horses, and billiards. Then allowing herself to become more serious she poses a follow-up question, “are you going to end up leaving me to become a pool shark? Or hell, a millionaire?” She referenced the Mcarthy party with ease. God, Sonny looked so fetching in that sleeveless green beater. The more she dwelled on it, the deeper the cranberry stain on her cheeks became. It had been form-fitting, exposing every delightful curve of his athletic arms, and the color itself set ablaze Crockett’s emerald eyes. She had enjoyed observing the master at work, fleecing and humiliating the great Louis Mcarthy in front of a party of his peers. It was a real class act! Though during the match, Tubbs had been sweating bullets over the wager Crockett made with the Daytona. Even now, as her own hues sojourn upon him, she felt that same indelible tug at her heartstrings. The sultry heat returns to her face when her mind decides to run off with forbidden possibilities, thoughts of things she’d like to do to him but shouldn’t. So much so, she diverts her gaze to the window. Her fingers absentmindedly fiddle with the camera made ready on her lap even though she had not spotted any hinkey activity. Of all the people she’d ever secretly pinned after, he was the most cherished.

Regaining her composure, her vision slowly refixes upon Crockett. “Am I close?”


End file.
